


Moments

by Astr



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, and yucky bits too, but it's fluffy too, it's fine, or at least soft, there is a serial killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astr/pseuds/Astr
Summary: Their love story was never going to end wellBut for a precious moment, it was a love story.
Relationships: Martin Whitly/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. A Momentary Lovestory

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fever dream that would not let me be until it was written. Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their love was not pure.  
> Their love was not good.
> 
> But it was theirs.

_ "My beautiful boy…" _

That's how it always began.

That's how he wanted it to always begin.

That's how he wanted it to end, someday, as well.

_ "My beautiful boy…" _

  
  


It was soft, tender even, so gentle he thought he might cry each time he heard it; the closest thing the man had to prayer, it was always spoken in hushed tones, with the utmost reverence. This name was reserved for these moments alone.

_ "My beautiful boy…" _

Mesmer was panting, sore and slightly disoriented. He had just finished testing a new cocktail of things for his beloved, and he had been paralyzed, able to feel everything the man did to him (though Dr. Whitman (née Whitly) was exceptionally careful during these tests, since the younger man couldn't even blink to indicate he was in pain with this latest batch). It was like sleeping, exceptionally vividly, dreaming of a waking world that existed outside of himself.

"That's enough for today,” the doctor murmured, writing his notes. Since the Romany boy came into his life, he'd filled volumes at a much greater rate, far more detailed, than he ever could have before, back in that suffocating place, a family to weigh him down. Honestly, moving to the countryside had been his best decision yet. Well, maybe not best….

"Did I do good?" The voice was hoarse from disuse for the last several hours, but some water would fix that.

"You did spectacularly, darling. Exceptional. Truly."

It was true. No one could stay so still, even before the paralytics. No one could take pain so well (though, he found he didn't like hurting the young man these days. Not more than absolutely necessary).

The smile that met his gaze was enough to give Dr. Whitman one as well. He was undoubtedly enraptured. Mesmerize had been a promise perhaps even more than a name.

The young man carefully stretched his limbs, disguising any groans as yawns, such a considerate darling. He carefully reached for a bottle of water, though it was just out of reach. He considered, not wanting to interrupt the important note-taking his Martin was doing.

But Martin noticed anyways, scooting the bottle over. "I'm sorry, my boy. I didn't mean to keep this from you. Little sips, remember. Breathe."

Mesmer blushed and nodded, sipping carefully as his throat eased into the action, breathing carefully through his nose as he'd been taught. He glanced down at the IV line sticking from his arm, wincing and quickly looking away. He hated needles, was scared to death of them.

And yet he was so willing to help.

Martin finished his notes with a flourish, shutting the book and gently removing the tubes and needles, pressing soft kisses to his beautiful boy's throat and jaw, distracting from the discomfort.

He loved his beautiful boy. His sweet, helpful, gentle boy, who knew who and what he was and loved him with his whole heart anyways.

(And what a beautiful heart it was).

When he was done, he felt Mesmer's arms rest, so gently, on his shoulders, a weak embrace that Martin returned, encircling his boy with warmth, with unspoken promises and encouragement. That was enough.

"My beautiful boy," he whispered into Mesmer's ear. He felt that incredible heart speed up, eager and willing to please (still so eager to please, even after today's experiments).

Martin was always stronger than his chubby frame led people to believe. It was easy to hold his boy close, carrying him to the elevator up to the bedroom, the only two rooms that were in very good use these days (though on non-experiment days, the boy would use the large kitchen to make incredible dishes with anything he had on hand. Thanks to Mesmer, they never went hungry).

He set the young man down on the plush mattress, silently admiring the soft bruises around his throat and shoulder, reminders of love bestowed nights before.

Martin touched Mesmer's face, so gentle so gentle, so very soft, delicate as a porcelain doll even though his skin was beautiful and chocolatey, a shade or two lighter since they'd met so long ago. Mesmer teared up, and Martin kissed the liquid away. He knew why they were there, Mesmer had admitted it sheepishly one night after their first romp together.

_ "You're so gentle…. I feel special, loved…. I've never had that before…." _

He would always be soft for his young lover. Always. Even during experiments and the like. Especially then. He treasured this gift, so freely given.

It was a masterpiece, the lithe body, scarred beautifully from his previous life, sinewy and strong and all his. Every inch eager to give all it had, so responsive, so amazing. Martin worshipped this body, perhaps even more than Mesmer worshipped his.

He was amused by his boy's delight in his softness, his curves that had gotten him teased in youth, mocked in marriage even, were incredible to his lover.

_ "Fr… that man… he was so bony, so skinny, a skeleton of pain… you're so soft and warm…." _

It was the highest of compliments, really, from his beautiful boy. To be safe, soft, warm to him. A shelter from the world's cruelties - and his Mesmer had already seen too much of that.

The day he had brought in a certain judge for dissection and anatomical study, his boy had been shaking with nerves. But he showed him the man's heart, his brain, his nervous system all shuttered down.  _ That man _ was dead. Truly dead.

(By Martin's own hand. He had killed the judge himself with his most painful of tonics. No one could have his boy. Especially not the monster who had hurt him so badly in that life)

_ "Beautiful boy…" _ he cooed again, brought back to the present, to cocoa skin and emerald eyes, to wild curls that he loved to run his fingers through, to tug ever so slightly in a way that made his lover shiver.

He smiled for his Mesmer, his perfect little love. The only one who understood.

Mesmer smiled back, reaching up to caress his Surgeon's face. His soft, warm, fuzzy face, with a smile that actually reached his eyes, eyes that showed how much he cared. He would do anything for those eyes. For the soft, loving man he had found all that time ago. Who called him "beautiful" and "perfect" and not "whore" and "sinner" when making love to him.

And when it was them, the Surgeon and his Beautiful Boy, it was making  _ love _ . With every breath, every fervent whisper, Mesmer felt cherished, felt desired for more than just filling harsh desires. He felt safe. He felt loved.

And when Martin leaned down to kiss him, a large, warm hand stroking his side, Mesmer felt like he was something amazing.

_ "Martin," _ he whispered, the name a prayer on his lips, spoken with hopeless devotion. He believed in soulmates, and this was the closest he knew he would ever get.

"A love more than love" some pretentious romantic might say, if asked to explain the perfect relationship. 

It was not. But it was theirs, in soft sighs and stolen kisses; in the afterglow when they were still slick and messy from their lovemaking, and Martin would cradle his boy close, praising him like a priest at worship, Mesmer caged blissfully in strong, soft arms, never wanting to leave, listening to a heart, a magnificent heart, beat steadily and confidently. 

It was theirs in mornings when Mesmer would refuse to get out of bed at dawn, and Martin would let him stay in as long as he wanted (they had all the time in the world, after all). Martin would come back an hour later to see his boy curled up, unable to sleep peacefully without his warmth, his soft curves, and oh how delicious that was to know. To know that he was Mesmer's  _ everything _ . 

It was theirs in the long nights, on the rooftop to gaze at the stars, voices whispers to keep the world to themselves.

_ "Promise me, my love" _

_ "Anything, my boy," _

_ "When the time comes, let me go." _

And that  _ hurt _ . Hurt to think of this perfection ever stopping. But they both knew, really, it could only last so long.

And with anyone else, he wouldn't give this request a second thought, weighty as it may be, but this is his boy, his beautiful sweet incredible boy, and he has to think about it.

But the answer remained the same.

_ "I promise. You won't feel a thing. I won't make you look." _

_ "Good. And one more thing, my darling, my lover, my moon and stars…?" _

_ "Don't get greedy now, you're already asking a great deal, you know." _

_ "I know." _

_ "Tell me then, what else do you wish?" _

_ "Don't let them have my heart. Keep it with you, always. Please." _

And this was much easier. He would want it no other way. After all, it already belonged to him.

_ "Of course. It is so beautiful… just like you, my beautiful boy…." _

And they made love again under the stars, wanting every moment to count.

Martin remembered that night with fondness. They had come so far from then, and yet, not at all. The promise was still there, the unspoken belonging. And he pressed inside his lover, hearing music only meant for him, kissing and caressing and praising. They could do this for hours, make such a mess, and it would never be enough for him. He could watch his boy come apart with cries and sighs and mewls and prayers --  _ "I… that's never happened before" he said the first time Martin brought him to completion. A first the man would be more proud of than nearly any other  _ \-- he could tease and edge and torture (in the best of ways), making him wait until they came together, everything hot and perfect and precious in that moment, bliss and stars and each other, and it was Martin's happy place. 

Happier even perhaps than watching his love fall asleep, content to know that the Surgeon would not hurt him permanently (nor would he harm him at all unless necessary), feeling the power of such complete trust. That was love, surely.

This love was not perfect.

This love was not healthy.

But this was their love.

The Surgeon

The Outcast

And while they had it, their love was  _ beautiful. _

  
  



	2. A Momentary Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that begins must end. Even a moment.

It was just like falling asleep, really. In their own version of a twisted fairy tale, the handsome prince kissed the fair maiden and instead of bringing her back to life, he brought his lover slowly into the most eternal of slumbers.

Dr. Martin Whitman did not want to believe that things were so dire. Did not want this to end . So he ignored the signs, the warnings, and decided to live normally as they could, a life of happy moments, ignorant to the forces conspiring against him. 

What he had not counted on was his beautiful boy, his smart boy, his clever, clever boy; and that clever boy knew that something was wrong. Knew when he read the paper that people were getting closer. He knew what had to happen, and that night after their usual experimentation, after their lovemaking, he turned to his beloved, still blissful in their afterglow.

"You made me a promise, right?"

The doctor smiled to hide the fear inside of his eyes but Mesmer always knew that it was there, just like he always knew when to stop or when to go, what to say to cheer or calm; he knew Martin better, in fact, than the Surgeon seemed to know himself.

"Don't worry, my boy. It's not time yet." He tried to sound reassuring.

"You promised me, Martin, and I know you always keep your promises."

"I know but-"

"And remember, you promised to keep my heart safe. It's been yours since the beginning and I want you to have it long after this body fades away, to know whenever you see it that I am with you."

If there were tears in his eyes the doctor pretended not to notice them. He had never been one for grand displays of emotion except when necessary to cover his tracks, but with Mesmer he didn't need them. He could be himself, all of himself, and his beautiful beautiful boy understood everything.

Such a clever, smart, amazing boy his Mesmer was....

He sighed and nodded.

"I will never let you go," he promised, "never. And you won't feel a thing, I promise I won't make you look, I won't make you-" 

"I know. It's time now, I think. So go and live and do your work, and remember me, not as I will be when you are done with me, but as I am right now, in this moment, alive, and so very in love with you."

Martin nodded again, feeling a weight in his heart like he had never felt before, except perhaps in those first fragile weeks when they had met and he was afraid that he might lose this new, interesting, beautiful boy.

\--

_ They had met, of all places, on a derelict fishing boat bound for Skagway, Alaska. Or well not quite Skagway, Alaska, but rather a remote mansion far off in the woods, where Martin had hoped he could be alone and do his studies and keep the police off of his trail.  _

_ Such hopes seemed in vain when he found that there was something on his boat. Something stowed away under a tarp, moving ever so slightly. _

_ Knowing it well could be a trap, he used a small stick and prodded it, and it groaned. He removed the tarp covering the body and found much to his surprise a beautiful young man. Or, he could have been a beautiful young man, but now he was ashen, his face to void of almost all color, and there were bleeding wounds on his back and bruising in alarming places on his chest and Martin knew that without intervention the boy would die. _

_ "And how did you get here?" He knew time was of the essence. He also knew he was just that good of a doctor. _

_ The young man whined softly, covering a bloody ear. _

_ "Luck. Cleverness." His accent was thickly… something. French and something else. And he was bold, for a dying boy. _

_ "I see. Well, you're not long for this world, I'm afraid, without some help. Why should I save you?" _

_ "You probably… shouldn't. I wouldn't. Just… had to get out… get away… die free before living… like that longer…."  _

_ The lovely boy was wheezing, clearly in excruciating pain, and signing his own death certificate it seemed. But there was something there. In the faded green eyes he could see… pleading? Hope? He didn't know. _

_ But he might as well save the boy now. If only to kill him later. As the young man fell unconscious once again, Martin hoisted him over to his first-aid kit, and got to work. _

\--

_ " _ Alright, my beautiful boy… lay back… that's it… I'm here. I know. I promised."

Martin caressed his boy's face again, tenderly, more for himself than Mesmer. His boy was calm, nearly eerily so, for the circumstances, so still already, so willing to do whatever he had to.

Anything he had to.

And Martin could again feel tears forming in his traitorous eyes, and he was almost taken aback by them. He had not cried (aside from several hours earlier) in years. Since before the boat, before he left the city and their too-smart officers (and his too-smart wife). He had thought such things past him, honestly.

But here he was. Trying to reign in emotions he hadn't felt in longer than he could remember, trying to rationalize that he couldn't feel emotions, frankly, and that this was just his body's reaction to stress.

But why that? He had done far worse to many many others. What made this one - his beautiful boy - so special?

\--

_ He was pleasantly surprised that the young man survived that first week, and began healing nicely. He learned the boy's name, where he had come from, and why. _

_ Yeesh. He thought he was a nightmare. At least he wasn't a sadosexual monster, just a handsome and talented predatory psychopath. _

_ But the boy was intriguing. So full of life despite that initial almost-wish for death. And he could tell things, just by looking at Martin. Could read him in a way that no one, not even his wife, had ever been able to. _

_ What a delight it would be to look inside and see what was going on in the young man. He had never been a brain type, but it would be intriguing nonetheless. _

_ \-- _

_ The boy was proving very useful. He was an excellent lure, a beautiful siren to bring lost campers to a final rest. As long as he couldn't hear anything, he didn't mind, he had said. _

_ Oh, he knew what was happening. But Martin had saved him, had listened (actually listened), and these people shouldn't have been camping alone, plain and simple. That's practically asking for something to happen. _

_ So strange, this beautiful boy. _

\--

"Hold me when I go? Let me be warm and soft. I'll miss that. Miss your hands. And other things… Try not to move on to other pretty boys too quickly."

It was a joke.

Martin didn't know how he could be satisfied again after the experiences they'd shared.

\--

_ Men have needs. It was that simple. _

_ And yet. _

_ Martin actually worried. _

_ About Mesmer's feelings. _

_ About triggering something deeply hurting in even the casual request. _

_ Well, to be fair, he wasn't that kind of monster, he repeated to himself. Of course he wouldn't put the young man through that. _

_ But he still did seem so eager. _

_ So what was the harm, really? _

_ He was there to be used. _

_ \-- _

_ He had expected there to be a bit of emotion. _

_ He hadn't expected the beautiful boy to openly weep during sex. _

_ Now he felt like an asshole. _

_ But why?? _

_ \-- _

_ Take two went better. As in any relationship, the key was communication. _

_ This time, he understood the tears, went much slower, spoke soothingly and encouragingly, and made sure the beautiful boy came. _

_ His first time, apparently. _

_ And that stoked something in Martin. _

_ \-- _

_ For a week they couldn't keep their hands off each other, Mesmer's smooth, enticing lines, his dark skin and pinkish scars, and that devious look in his eyes tempered by… something? _

_ And Martin's soft curves, his warmth, the way he held Mesmer like he was going to crush him and shield him and cage him all at once and it was perfect. Blissful. Sensual. _

_ They threw out three sets of sheets. _

_ Martin knew they had something special the first night of that week, watching green eyes close and his chest rise and fall steadily, soothingly. _

_ Such a beautiful boy. _

_ His beautiful boy. _

\--

"It's alright, my love. It's just my body. I'll be with you always. I promise. On all that I am I promise. As long as you keep a part of me with you, as long as you think of me, I'll be there. Go to Canada. Or down south past the border. It doesn't matter, really, long as your safe."

\--

_ When he offered to help Martin create better and newer cocktails, Martin could scarcely believe it. Why on Earth would any sane person do that? He certainly wouldn't. _

_ But it was enticing. _

_ Thrilling. _

_ Oh he would be very careful, at first at least, with his boy. His eager boy. So willing. _

_ And he might make immense progress, and become an even better killer at the same time. _

_ So why not mix business and pleasure a bit more? _

\--

"I know, my boy. I know. Maybe Hawaii. Something tropical, with a view of the ocean."

"That would be nice. A cabin on a remote beach. Sunsets on the water."

Martin knew Mesmer was distracting him from thinking of what had to be done. He was such a sweet boy. So considerate of others' feelings. Even now. No wonder his heart was so incredible.

\--

_ The first time he saw Mesmer's beautiful heart, he had intended to kill him. Nothing personal, of course, but he could tell this relationship was trouble. Best to cut losses and move on, perhaps pose him to take the fall for a few unsolved mysterious disappearances. _

_ But seeing it there, so strong and lovely, inside such a trusting, sweet boy, well. _

_ He couldn't just stop it. _

\--

_ There was another week of passion. _

_ Nothing got done. _

_ He found he didn't care. _

_ This was his work now, too. _

_ And if it wasn't just the most beautiful thing to see his boy laying there, fully at his mercy, needy for more and yet so eager to please. To picture now the heart beating so quickly inside that slick chest, a faint scar all that remained of that little trip inside his lover. It was addicting. _

_ And the way his beautiful boy doted on him, worshipped him and the body that had been so cruelly mocked in that previous life, oh it was something else. He felt beautiful, frankly, and wondered if that was what his Mesmer felt at those kinds of glances, those touches. No harm in giving them both something so sweet. _

\--

"Remember to eat. I don't want you to get all skinny and sickly. You deserve to be warm and soft. The way I love you best."

_ " _ No fear of that," he promised.

But there was. He couldn't imagine having an appetite again after this, after this feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he would try.

"Now, my dearest love. I think it's really time. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes."

"Did you call it in?"

"I will soon."

"You should do it now. It'll take them long enough to get here for you to be out safe. Too long and it'll be caught by the M.E."

"I know, my boy. But it can wait a moment."

"Alright…"

Martin kissed him as he slipped in the IV. He felt his boy wince and it actually felt painful to him as well. So strange and discomfiting.

"There we are."

"Martin?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"Was I worth it?"

"Absolutely. My beautiful boy… I would do it all again in a heartbeat."

Mesmer giggled, starting to feel the drugs pulling him under. But… he had something… something important to say… what… was…

_ " _ Mmmmartin?" He slurred.

_ " _ Yes?" There were tears thick in his voice.

"...I… love… you…" he enunciated carefully, eyes closing. He knew it was time to let go. 

To let Martin go. He had more to do. He couldn't get caught now.

It was alright.

He thought vaguely to a million lifetimes before.

To a boy in a belltower. So strange to remember him now.

But the love was the same.

He would keep him company until Martin came home too.

Martin…

Oh... He could just hear something…

"I love you too…

My beautiful boy…."

Well… he had always hoped he would die happy, peacefully in his sleep. And now…

_ Love _

He could let go.

\--

They never stopped to realize the heart inside the handsome dead boy wasn't his own.

It was somewhere much more important.

\--

"Well, it was a good run, my boy, but it looks like I'm coming for you. Or, well, making the first half of that journey."

The heart said nothing. It always said nothing.

But that didn't matter to Martin. He knew his boy was there. Listening. Waiting. Every night he talked about his day, and stroked the lovely shape, valves, ventricles, perfectly preserved. 

And now he felt the quiet acceptance, and perhaps more of that precious eagerness. So refreshing.

He knew he couldn't run forever, couldn't kill forever.

But he went as long as he could, if only to have more time with his love. Perhaps they would meet again beyond whatever lay before him.

He hoped so. 

He missed him.

_ His beautiful boy. _


End file.
